Lhasa meditation

Greetings,

He slows down.
Each step is a breath.
As before, in other planetary places he savors the beginning of a new day in
scenes of becoming—cold, isolated, strange, wonderful mysterious reality. The
street blends into the circuit. Go to the main square. Two large chorten furnaces
are breathing fire, sending plumes of gray and black smoke into the sky.
Figures of all ages and energies, sellers of juniper and sage. Buyers collect their
offerings—throw sweet smelling twigs into the roaring fire, finger prayer beads
and resume their pilgrimage.

He joins the flow, shuffling along. Feel the softness being with the ageless
way of meditation, a walking meditation.

It is a peaceful manifestation of the eternal now. The vast self vibration of
frequencies in the flow. His “restless” wandering ghost spirit feels the peace
and serenity inside the flow.

The sky fills with clear pink light. As above, so below. Prayer flags lining
roofs sing in the wind as incense smoke curls away. The shuffling pilgrims create
a ceaseless wave—the sound of muted consistent steps, clicking of prayer
beads, a gentle hum of turning prayer prayer wheels, murmurs of mantras from lips.

Everything is clear and focused on offering, sacrifice, gaining merit
in the collective unconscious. The river flows.

Dawn light blesses western snow capped mountains with a pink glow.
A black-faced half-naked boy throws himself down and out on his hands
and knees prostrating the length of his skinny skeleton. He wears slabs of wood
on his hands and an old brown apron. He edges forward, pulling himself
along, rises, gestures to the sky, hands together, down along his skin out and
down to the ground scrapping away flesh edging forward inside shuffling pilgrims.
His eyes are on fire!

One completes one circuit after another, circling the Jokhang. More light,
more people ascending into the square—handfuls of juniper feed roaring
flames.
Crack! Hiss! Burn! Back to Dust!
You will walk through the fire.
Do this practice every day.

Peace.